XII.

TENDER, TRUSTY, AND TRUE.

PSALMS XXXiv. 11-17: "Come, children, listen to me, and I will teach you how to serve the Lord. Never say bad words, nor what is not true. Go right away from what is bad; do good; try your best to be gentle and kind. Then the Lord will hear you when you cry to him in your trouble, and help you every time."

THIз sermon, as I said last Sunday, is all for the children, and not for the men and women: so I have tried to put the text into easy words, so that children may know what it means as soon as I read it. And I should like to make my sermon as plain as my text; then children will know what my sermon means too. Sermons are divided into three parts. I am not quite sure whether a sermon can be a sermon if it is not in three parts. At any rate, it is very useful to make three parts, for then you can guess how much more the preacher will say and little Hattie Collyer told me one day, she was so glad

when I said thirdly; for she knew then I should soon be done. Now, my three parts will be three all in one to-day; and every one will begin with the same letter. First, Tender; second, Trusty; and third, True: and I want in the sermon to say what will help you to be tender, trusty, and true. I am very glad that I have found such a nice good text to preach from; it is just what I wanted: and I hope you will take care not to forget the text. When I was a boy, I had a Bible I could carry to church in my pocket; then when the man said, "You will find my text in such a place," as I say to-day, I used to find the place, to put a mark in it, and then to read all about it when I went home. I wish this were done by the children in this school. I can tell you, children, it is a real good thing to do; for it will help you to know ever so much more than you do know about the best book that ever was printed, or it may be that ever will be printed, as long as the world stands. Well, now, if you read the text when you get home, and the psalm too, you will find that King David wanted to tell young folks what I want to tell you; that is, first, how to be good; and then what is the

use of being good. And he does not say, "1 think so," or, "It may be so," but, "It is so." As if he had said, "Now, children, you just trust me. I was once a child like you. I am now a man and a king. I can see away back to the time when I was a little boy, and begged honey from my mother, and cried when I didn't get it. I can tell just what was good for me, and what was bad; where I came out right, because I began right; and where I came out wrong, because I began wrong; and I want to tell you, so you may know what to do. Come, children, listen to me."

I can remember when I was in the Sunday school, and had just begun to read about David, that I did not feel sure he ever was a real baby, and had to be fed with a teaspoon; or that he ever was a real little boy that went to school as I did, and played marbles, and had to knuckle down, and had a peg-top, a jackknife, some slate pencils, ever so many buttons, and a piece of string, all in one pocket; that he ever had to try hard not to cry when he went to school very cold mornings; or that the teacher spoke sharp to him when the little chap had tried his best to get

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his lesson, and did not get it very well. know ministers have got to find out all about such men as David; and I have found out enough to make me feel sure he was once a little boy, just like one of you; and had to get verses, like you; and didn't like it, like you: that he did not like to go to bed early, like you; or to get up early, like you. I rather fear that, in the summer, he ate green apples, unripe melons, hard peaches, and sour plums, as you do; and got sick, and was very sorry, and had to take medicine, as you do; and said he would never do it again and then I believe he never did do it again, after he promised not to; which I hope is like you also. Now, just here I was trying to see what sort of boy David was when he grew bigger; and, as I shut my eyes, and so tried to see it all clear, I heard a noise right under my study window. This was about four o'clock, Friday afternoon; the schools were out, and the children running home. I turned my head to see what was the matter, and then I saw what I want to tell you. About ten boys were standing together. All at once a big boy knocked a little boy down, and rolled him in the snow.

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little boy got up, and said, "What did you do that for?" Then the big one drew off, as if he was going to do it again; and I believe he would have done it as bad as before, but the small boy walked sobbing away towards home.

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There," I said, when I had seen that, "I know what David never did do: he never struck a boy that was no match for him; he never was a coward ike that; for he is a coward to strike a small boy s; and those others are not the boys they ought to be, to stand by and see it done." I saw such a thing in a picture once; it was called the Wolf and the Lamb. A great, cruel boy meets a small, delicate lad who has lost his father, and stands over hin with his fist doubled, just as I saw that boy staud under my study window. I think if any boy in this church were to see that picture, be would instantly say, "What a shame to use a boy so who is uct your match!" Once I read in the Life of Dr. Channing, who was one of the best men that ever lived (a great deal better than David, because he lived in a better time), what he once did when he was a boy, and saw a thing like that. Little Channing was one of the kindest and most tender-hearted boys I ever